Urrea flushed, but controlled his temper.

“It is true, Ramon,” he replied.  “The third man I can tell you is called Obed White, and they are a clever three.  I hate them, but it hurts my pride less to be defeated by them than by any others whom I know.”

“Well spoken, Urrea,” said a third man, “but since these three are fighters and will stay to meet us, it is a certainty that our general will scoop them into his net.  Then you can have all the revenge you wish.”

“I count upon it, Ambrosio,” said Urrea, smiling.  “I also hope that we shall recapture the man Roylston.  He has great sums of money in the foreign banks in our country, and we need them, but our illustrious president cannot get them without an order from Roylston.  The general would rather have Roylston than a thousand Texan prisoners.”

All of them laughed, and the laugh made Ned, lying in the shadow, shiver once more.  Urrea glanced his way presently, but the recumbent figure did not claim his notice.  The attention of his comrades and himself became absorbed in the dice again.  They were throwing the little ivory cubes upon a blanket, and Ned could hear them click as they struck together.  The sharp little sound began to flick his nerves.  Not one to cherish resentment, he nevertheless began to hate Urrea, and he included in that hatred the young men with him.  The Texans were so few and poor.  The Mexicans were so many, and they had the resources of a nation more than two centuries old.

Ned rose by and by and walked on.  He could imitate the Mexican gait perfectly, and no one paid any attention to him.  They were absorbed, moreover, in something else, because now the light of torches could be seen dimly in the south.  Officers threw down cards and dice.  Men straightened their uniforms and Cos and Sesma began to form companies in line.  More fuel was thrown on the fires, which sprang up, suffusing all the night with color and brightness.  Ned with his rifle at salute fell into place at the end of one of the companies, and no one knew that he did not belong there.  In the excitement of the moment he forgot all about the Panther and Obed.

A thrill seemed to run through the whole Mexican force.  It was the most impressive scene that Ned had ever beheld.  A leader, omnipotent in their eyes, was coming to these men, and he came at midnight out of the dark into the light.

The torches grew brighter.  A trumpet pealed and a trumpet in the camp replied.  The Mexican lines became silent save for a deep murmur.  In the south they heard the rapid beat of hoofs, and then Santa Anna came, galloping at the head of fifty horsemen.  Many of the younger officers ran forward, holding up torches, and the dictator rode in a blaze of light.

Ned looked once more upon that dark and singular face, a face daring and cruel, that might have belonged to one of the old conquistadores.  In the saddle his lack of height was concealed, but on the great white horse that he rode Ned felt that he was an imposing, even a terrible, figure.  His eyes were blazing with triumph as his army united with torches to do him honor.  It was like Napoleon on the night before Austerlitz, and what was he but the Napoleon of the New World?  His figure swelled and the gold braid on his cocked hat and gorgeous uniform reflected the beams of the firelight.